


Blooming Lupine

by PricklesTheDangerMouse, szacka, zzombieyum



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, My Chemical Romance, Sk8er Boi - Avril Lavigne (Song), Twilight Series - Stephenie Meyer
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Mob, Can Almost Taste The Salt, Gen, Idiots in Love, M/M, Motorcycle Sex, Muscles, Original Character(s), Pelvic Girdle, Piccolo Playing, Pirates, Tattoos, Werewolf Sex, Wind In Your Hair, licking the butthole, swashbuckling
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-25
Updated: 2020-04-30
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:01:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 14,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23832067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PricklesTheDangerMouse/pseuds/PricklesTheDangerMouse, https://archiveofourown.org/users/szacka/pseuds/szacka, https://archiveofourown.org/users/zzombieyum/pseuds/zzombieyum
Summary: When three new students arrive at Los Angeles High School, tensions are bound to rise. With hearts at stake, anything could happen. Who will come out on top? And who won’t come out at all?
Relationships: blues daddy/big boi
Kudos: 2





	1. Part 1: Jay Oliver 'Ollie' Rogers

**Author's Note:**

> Please be nice I am a new author and I am putting my work out into the world so don't be mean I am very insecure/
> 
> CHAPTER ONE: Jay Oliver “Ollie” Rogers

It was a windy day, perfect for a sail on the open sea. La Mère Morte bounded gracefully over the jutting waves, like a deer leaping through the underbrush. Her sails were taut, swollen with captured winds. Jay was an expert at capturing the winds. With large callused hands he bent them to his will. Like mighty Zeus, he commanded the heavens. Jay's hands were strong from his months at sea, yet gentle enough to cup a sickly baby bird, which was what he did now.

  
“Fly free sweet thing. Taste the untethered freedom of the skies.”

  
The feathered thing flapped its downy wings. With a gentle toss Jay sent the bird careening into the blue sky.

  
“Innocence lives on today. Unlike my poor dead mother.”

A tear ran down his cheek, nestling into his beard like a baby nestling into its mother’s breast. Although Jay was barely 18 years old, his heart was so much older. He was an old soul, a caring, loyal soul. But since his mothers’ death he hasn't been the same. He’d been a large baby, with a head the width of a cantaloupe. He’d breached her womb like a whale leaping for the heavens. The doctors had said there was nothing they could do, she’d bled out too fast. He never forgave himself. His father hadn’t either. At 4 years old his grieving father, a master fisherman, had left him clinging to a buoy off the coast of Newfoundland. He’d been found by a venturing pirate crew, who’d raised him as one of their own. By age 6 he knew how to bait a hook and catch a fish. By age 8 he could swing a cutlass and emit a mighty growl. By age 12 he could row like any man ten times his age. By age 18 he could woo a lass and fill out a flowing white blouse. Jays muscles were large and pulsating, his young skin tan from his many days at sea. He was an accomplished seafarer. By day.

Yet Jay's heart had always longed for something more. Days passed in a familiar rhythm. Hoist the sails and set the rudder, wrangle his flowing brown curls, converse with the ghost of his dead psychic brother, and ration the day’s catch between his unruly men. It was a difficult life, but a simple one. Jay sighed as he looked to the distant stars. The North star. The most important star to a pirate. It glimmered in the night sky, a beacon of hope amid the endless darkness. The darkness had seemed all encompassing since the death of his chosen father. Captain Oliver had been the one who’d pulled him from the clutches of Poseidon. He’d trained Jay in the art of pirating ever since. He was a mentor, but he was more than that. He was Jay’s paternal soulmate. When he’d died he’d left Jay to take the reigns. He could remember that day clearly. It had been chilly. Chilly enough to see his warm breath swirl through the air, much like how the warm breath of a hot soup swirls through the winter air. It had been cold. So cold his bones ached and his beard hairs clung together for warmth. Mother Nature herself had reached into his chest and frozen the last bit of his heart that day. He wasn’t sure anything could ever defrost it. It had been dinner time, the cook had made his favorite meal. Olive soup. Salty black balls in hot steaming liquid. Olive soup. He didn’t think he could ever eat it again. Captain Oliver was a large man, a hairy hungry man. He’d gulped his soup like it was the last meal he’d ever eat. Little did he know it was. One olive. One lone, devious, insidious, salty black ball had gotten lodged in the Captains throat. And that was that.

A tear ran down Jay’s cheek. It splashed into the black sea below, lost in the salty swell.  
Jay’s heart longed for more. He longed to fall in love, to smell a rose, to melt his icy heart.  
But as the moon rose over the horizon, he knew his rumination was at an end. Jay had a secret. A secret as to why he could hoist two sails at once, a secret to why he could sense land from miles away, a secret to where he went every month, once a month, on the full moon. The moon crested the horizon, and Jay dove into the embrace of the sea.

When he was younger Jay had dreamed of being a doctor. He’d use his strong, gentle hands to save lives and birth babies. But those dreams had been dashed like waves against rocks. A pirate. You’re a pirate, said Captain Oliver. And a pirate he was. Medical school was so far out of his grasp. His mother had died young at 19 years of age. Her life snuffed out by his bulbous head. If only there had been a way to save her. If he could become a doctor he could find a way to save the lives of thousands. He could be a hero.

He turned his face to the salty winds. It was a good day. The summer had been kind to him. The breeze dried the sweat that dripped from his brow. He was tired. It had been another sleepless night. Another night spent paddling through the waves, his powerful muscles working overtime to keep pace with the speeding ship. It was difficult, swimming this way. The currents threatened to drag his waterlogged body down to the sea bed. But adversity only made Jay stronger. And after 18 years of adversity, Jay was a very strong young man. Long nights made for long days. Jay tried to enjoy the small things, cool breezes, clear summer nights. He smoothed a long brown lock out of his face, fingers brushing his square jaw. He needed a shave. But a day like this was better spent on deck. He looked towards the heavens.

  
“Great Zeus? What plans have you for me? Mighty Poseidon? What plans have you for my crew?”

  
A butt, a great billowing thing, drifted lazily across the sky. If he squinted he could almost make out the shape of a bird. A dove. His mother had been named Dove. Harbingers of peace, joy. Hopefully a good omen. An omen of the future. My butt was white, like innocence.

A flier, held fast to the star board of the ship by the vicious winds. That’s what caught Jay’s attention. That’s what changed his life.

  
“You should go for it.”

  
Evan appeared at his shoulder. Evan was identical in almost every way. Leaner, however, since he didn’t share Jay’s affliction. There was one other difference. Evan was dead. Their mother had been sick, her body not able to supply enough nutrients to both Jay and Evan. The twins were left to fight for every calorie flowing from her placenta. It wasn’t much. In a desperate state, Jay had overpowered his young brother, and absorbed all the nutrients his small body could offer. WIth Evans help, Jay had survived. But his brother was blessed. The end was not the end for him. When Jay had consumed his brother's body, he had also consumed his very soul. The brothers were anchored together from birth. Like twin suns in an eternal orbit. Evan followed Jay wherever he went. And he brought with him the wisdom of the afterlife. Evan could conjure spirits of the dead, and he could speak to them. It was a gift that often came in handy on the open sea. Evan could find the loot of pirates departed. Lost souls of seamen guided them through bellowing storms. They provided them wisdom about the often nasty ways of the ocean. It was almost a chore getting the many seamen off of their backs. But what is a pirate captain without his many clinging seamen?

“This could be a good opportunity for you. You should go for it.”

  
Jay considered his brother's words.

  
“An opportunity… for something better.”

  
He looked at the paper held in his strong, agile, gentle hands.

  
**LOS ANGELES HIGH SCHOOL**

_Where dreams soar and minds expand._

  
What is a pirate captain without his ship and his crew? What is a pirate captain without the sea? Could he really trade his swashbuckling, adventure packed life, for lockers and apples and first period algebra? Jay would need to find his land legs, and fast, if he wanted to survive his greatest challenge yet. High school.


	2. Part 1: Sunrise // Blade ‘Dreamslayer’ Slater

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Blade is very cool right don't worry there will be more smut to come ;;;) NO FLAMES

Days start off slowly, the jet-black depth of night softening into something sweeter, more vulnerable. He craves it, craves it like the burn of cigarettes at the back of his throat, like the burn of a sweet omega between his thighs. Craves it, these sunrise moments that are just him, his cigarette, his bike, and the sun, craves these moments that come and go and that he’ll never really grasp, never really be able to hold on to. Like the love of his mother, who left with his sister so many years ago. Like the love of his father, who only cares about his son when he brings him each week's pay, quickly earned and just as quickly lost at the blackjack table. He’d done some work in Atlantic City, back in the day, before he cheated the wrong boss and had been forced to haul his small, fledgling family and a few loyal men all the way to the West Coast. Blade doesn’t remember Jersey, doesn’t remember anything except the whirl of the slot machines and the bright, wonderous colors of the salons and the patrons. He grew up among gamblers, knows gambling in his soul. Even if he doesn’t gamble with money, no. Just lives, just the blood of traitors and narcs. It’s why he only wears leather pants: bodily substances wash off easily, and damn, they don’t do bad things to his thighs or butt, either.

  
None of his boys wake up this early, and he’s in love with the silence. Running a gang is satisfying, yes, and almost fills the void that came from years of parental absenteeism, and a lack of a strong support group or role model, and general societal failure. Day in and day out there were knees to break, backs to stab, deals to sign in blood. Tonight was an exchange, he knew, one that he’d been planning for months. Normally he’d let his boys handle it; Flameryder and Tempestgrime had been getting pretty good at the arrangements, at finding a drop spot and choosing the younger kids to come along with. As his second, Tempestgrime had really stepped up; there hadn’t been an all-out massacre in months. As much as Blade was loath to admit it, Tempest’s level headedness was a better fit to running the business side of things. Flameryder was volatile, liable to change rapidly and unpredictably, especially for the worse, and while Blade was more even, he wouldn’t mind leaving most of the administrative side of running a gang up to Tempestgrime.

  
That was actually the reason Tempest wasn’t coming tonight: in case anything went wrong. As the best enforcer and the one Blade trusted most after Temp, Flameryder would come along of course, as well as a group of their most seasoned members: Jet, Stone, Rock, Blaze, Akira, Wilder, Neo, Breaker, Axe, Arsen, Cryme, Paine, and one of the youngest, a slight, demure boy named Beau. The deal was with the Blacktooth Tigers, who mostly ran cocaine from the South Side port down the coast to Tijuana. They also ran heroin right back up. Normally the Bloodaggers didn’t do much work with the hard drugs, only weed and off brand aspirin, but they’d recently come into a large amount of powder after a violent takeover over the Sealion Mangler’s main warehouse. With the money this would rake in, the Bloodaggers could afford to fix the hole leaking through into Temp and Akira’s room, rebuild the porch that Stone and Rock had crashed ungracefully through in some drunken scuffle (over an omega, no doubt) last fall. Maybe if there was a little left over, they could finally spring for those vegan leather vests that he’d had his eyes on since Christmas. Despite being werewolves through and through, the Bloodaggers were passionate about the environment -- as much as a group of motorcycle riding, cigarette smoking, general crime committing hooligans could be.

  
Blade had been bitten in a club a few years back, one of the shadier ones that didn’t look at IDs too closely. He’d been young, dumb, starving for the attention of his father, looking for it in the hem of an older girl’s dress. She’d lured him in, like she lured the rest of them in, like she lured in all the young, dumb, naive boys who were all missing _something_.

  
Well, Blade recalls snidely, he’d gotten his reward. It came in the form of the sharp, messy bite of fangs on his bicep, the quick chaser to a saccharine, candy apple-sweet kiss pressed to his cheek. It had been gross, gruesome; he swallows a shudder with another deep, cancer-inducing drag of his cigarette. She’d taken him back to her place that night, a glitzy, high end apartment with a million dollar view of the ocean. He’d met the other boys there, his boys, equally scared and equally lost and equally hungry for direction.

  
Unlike the others, who didn’t have anything or anyone to go back to, Blade’s father still expected him to rake in a steady supply of money with which to fuel his crippling gambling addiction. He’d convinced her to allow him to return home, where the empty 6 bedroom family home would become a haven from the violence and misery that he experienced in that penthouse. The oppressive silence of the home couldn’t be scraped out of the dated wallpaper, was soaked into the counters next to the bloodstains left generously by his father’s debt collectors, yet the home was still preferable to the abject torture through which he had lived in that Los Angeles highrise.

  
The mutiny had come on slowly at first, and then all at once. They’d been whispering about it for months, behind closed doors and in lowered, demure eyes. She’d wanted to grow a werewolf army and foolishly had allowed them to grow stronger under her tutelage. But with the swell of their muscles matured the swell of rebellion. These boys, once small and powerless under the boot of social inequality, now held the weapons with which to end their suffering: all they needed was a leader.

  
Blade remembers how sweet her blood had tasted on his tongue as he ripped her throat out with his teeth, remembers how her screams grew thicker, and then smaller, and then not at all as she died at his feet. Remembers how his boys had rallied around him, remembers how he had taken them home, to his home, to their home. They’d gone through the crucible and had come back out stronger. Maybe not better, he thinks, but well, you can’t change the past. You can’t undo what’s been done. Closing his eyes against the early morning light, a scene from this morning flashes back behind his eyelids. Tempest and Akira curled into one another, blanket kicked down to their toes in unconscious resistance to the waning fall heat. Flame with one arm across his face, the other dangling uselessly off the side of the bed, unflattering, ugly snores resonating throughout the room. Thank god he had his own room, Blade reflects in passing. Poor Paine.

  
They were his boys, and he protected them, and they would always protect him. Tonight’s deal would go according to plan, because it always did, because none of his gang activities ever ended poorly for him, no matter how poorly or thoughtlessly they were planned. God hadn’t been there for him as a child, but maybe, just maybe, he was looking down on them now. Blade would go home, wake the boys for the first day of school (Flame had almost flunked algebra last year, which would have ruined their awesome Grand Canyon camping trip, and Blade wanted to ensure that Flame started off the year right this time), and deal with the Tigers this evening. Maybe this wasn’t the life Blade would have chosen for himself, but it was the life that he had: he had his boys, he had his bike, and he had complete power over several neighborhoods in Los Angeles.

  
Blade flicks the ash off the end of his cigarette, scuffs the toe of his boot on the boardwalk as he kicks the stand up. Swings a leg over the seat of his bike. He leaves the surf and the sunrise at his back, letting his cigarette fly into the sand as he skims across the uneven path of the boardwalk. The glow of the early morning light dyes the sea golden, glimmering, all the way to the horizon, but he doesn’t see it.


	3. Part 1 - Meet Blues "Daddy"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daddy hits the gym and meets a new friend

My name is Blues. At 17 years old, I am tall and muscular enough to look sexy, but not muscular enough to be able to actually lift anything more than 20 pounds. My eyes are blue and my brown hair is slicked back into a short ponytail. Today I am dressed in a white shirt with rips sliced across the chest and no sleeves to show off my large, manly muscles. I am also wearing short-shorts. Some people tell me this takes away from my masculinity. To that I tell them to eff off and that they’re just jealous of my muscles.

My muscles make me very sexy. But there are other good qualities about me. I am tough and I think I am very pushy and aggressive. I love fighting, especially when I win. That’s where my story begins.

Here I am, Blues, lifting weights at the LA Fitness gym. I do this every day before school. Right now I am benching 10 pounds. I know, I’m hardcore. That’s when i heard someone from behind me…

“Hey you”

My head snaps back at the man standing behind me. He is about as tall and as muscular as me, only not as sexy. And much more sweaty. Sweat is a sign of weakness. It means your body is crying from the pain of failure. 

“What do you want, you fucking pin head?”

“i was admiring how strong you are. That’s all.” 

Something in his tone made me stop.I am quick to action, as all strong men need to be to show their dominance to the world. 

That being said, I slammed the weights down and stood up. In a deep, sexy tone, i growled 

“You have no idea i am the strongest of the strong and i can and will kick your ass come here big boy and show daddy what you can do”

The man gave another small smile at my words. Slowly, he began stepping towards me, not moving his eyes from mine. When our noses were almost touching he breathed “why don’t you try to call me ‘daddy’ again.” he was still smiling.

I was about to respond, but at that moment, a herd of men, all less sexy than i came swarming through the gym doors. They all screamed variations of the same idea: we will kick your ass.

So i did what needed to be done. I kicked all of their asses. One by one, i slammed, kicked, beat, hit, and mutilated each man. 

When all the not-so-strong men were laying defeated before me, the sweaty big boy was looking at me.

“I am amazed by your ass-kicking skills! I am nathaniel, but everyone calls me ‘big boi’. What is your name?”

“I am blue, but everyone calls me ‘Daddy’”

“Nice to meet you daddy, what are you doing in LA?”

“I just moved here from Ohio to go to LA high school!” i said, feeling more comfortable the more i spoke to Big Boi.

“Oh, well, it’s a fairly boring place.” said Big Boi “nothing happens there”

“oh. “ said Daddy “that’s ok i guess.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Daddy.”

“Bye bye, Big Boi”

Blues turned and walked out of the LA Fitness gym. He didn't know what to expect at school tomorrow. He hoped that he would have as normal a school year as possible.. but when does that ever happen when you have blue hair, go by 'Daddy', and are sexy as hell?


	4. Jay Part 2: Beached

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jay experiences culture shock. Jay tries to find breakfast.

  
  


The coarse sand between his toes was something Jay hadn’t felt in a long time. He held his boots in one hand, beat up leather dangling from long laces. It was gritty and, like many things in life, caused him pain. He’d never been away from the sea as long as he was planning now. Even as a babe his blood father had taken him on fishing expeditions. It would take him time to adjust. His ship was constantly bobbing over waves. The stillness of land was disconcerting, making him dizzy. He fell over.

Finding a place to stay was the easy part. As captain of La Mère Morte he had his pick of loot. He was a wealthy man. Did he go for the sun-drenched loft in Echo Park? Or the quiet suburban paradise in Culver City? Jay squinted at the real estate booklet he’d been given. What was that? Price _per month_? This was much too expensive. 

Finding a place to live proved to be somewhat difficult. Jay hadn’t done this much walking in years. Cumulatively. His ship, while large, was not sprawling. His land legs were weak and emaciated. The pavement was hot and burned his bare feet. He put his shoes back on. He fell over. 

“Dollars? I think I have some dollars. Let’s see here. Do you take dubloons? No? Shame. Ah here, dollars. My mistake, those aren’t American. Check? Check what? Do you need me to fix something for you? See now, if we were on the open sea I’d just swipe you with my cutlass and- wait where are you going? I thought we had a deal!”

“References? Why would I need references. I say, you can tell everything you need to know about a man's character just by looking at him. You look like a fine lass. A bit lanky, no good for hauling catch. A bit of pudge around the middle but that’s nothing a few days of good, hard work won’t fix. Wait, wait, I really need this place. My brother, Evan! He’ll vouch for me. Well no, you can’t actually talk to him. He’s dead you see-”

The longer the hunt, the more satisfying the feast. And Jay was feasting tonight. He’d found a converted warehouse, right by the ocean. The tall windows gave the place a light airy feel. He left them open at night to taste the salty LA breeze. It was hot, hotter than it ever got on his ship. The place smelled of concrete and motor oil; the scent of LA docks. He tossed and turned, his bed unnaturally still. He felt alone, without Poseidon to gently rock him to sleep. There was no quiet murmur of the sea. No chatter of his seamen as they rested below deck. No soothing piccolo from Roberto, the agile fingered insomniac who guarded the crows nest by day. Jay sighed. He missed his crew. He missed his boat. He missed Robertos crooning voice singing him back to sleep after yet another olive driven nightmare. 

His nightmares. That was one topic Jay tried to avoid. The whole crew had heard him scream himself awake at one point or another. Even if they all pretended they hadn't. As a man with a dark and angst-ridden past, Jay had many nightmares. They took many different forms. Sometimes he dreamed of his own crowning head, drenched in blood. Sometimes it was the day his father left. Watching the fishing vessel shrink into the distance as he clung to the cold, unfeeling buoy, they way he longed to cling to his parents. Other times it was watching his beloved Captain Oliver gasp for air as his face purpled. Olives. They often haunted his dreams. It was him, after all, that requested olive soup that fateful day. His first heartbreak, his first voice crack, the nightmares never ended. Jay was a very sensitive man.

Jay had taken to drinking to mask the pain. A nasty habit, but a habit nonetheless. Rum was his drink of choice. Perhaps he was a cliche. Following the path laid out by Hollywood and adventure novels. Not that he was aware of that of course, entertainment on the high seas was limited. Jay rose from bed and grabbed the bottle by the neck. 

“Aye”

He tossed it back. He’d find his sleep in a bottle if he had to.

  
  


The morning sun burned his eyes. Sleep had come at a price. His head pounded. His breath was rancid. He’d brush, but there was no point. Scurvy had taken his teeth. Sleep was in short supply at sea. He was an early riser, often up before any of his seamen spilled out onto the deck. LA was no different. Routine was Routine. He supposed his routine should change. He’d never be elected prom king smelling like a seaman. A shower and a shot later he was ready to hit the deck. He laced up his white silk blouse, and buttoned a pair of brown suede breeches. Jay wasn’t a particularly vain man, but even he couldn’t help but admire the swell of his buttocks as they pressed against the smooth fabric. Captaining a ship required much heavy lifting, and heavy lifting sculpted ones glutes. He flexed, watching his supple mounds ripple like waves on the sea. Another shot. Time to sign up for classes. 

“Yes, Jay Ollie Roger, that is my real name. I-E not Y. A sword on my belt? Lad, it’s not a sword, it’s a cutlass! A weapon? This is no weapon! By god it’s not like I’m planning to use it!”

Life on land was complicated, so different from life at sea. Already his quest for a good cup of swill had been derailed. “Star Bucks”. A store with a picture of a very alluring mermaid on the front window. They seemed to have no respect for a man of the sea. Two shots of rum had done nothing to quell his pounding headache, and it seemed like it was here to stay. The hour was only 6, he had time until the administration office would open. Perhaps he’d find peace by the bay. 

The LA pier was quiet. Soon it would be bustling with tourists and beach goers. But for now, it was just Jay and the birds. The gulls were never this docile at sea. At sea, life was tough. They had to fly long distances, fight for survival. They’d seek refuge on the bow of the ship, often the only land around for miles. Unfortunately for them, Jay’s second favorite type of soup was gull. He’d sneak up on them, supernaturally still. With a lunge like a snapping boom mast haul rope, he’d grab them in his strong yet gentle hands, snapping their fragile necks. These LA birds would be easy prey. 

The white sand that blanketed the pier muffled his footsteps. He was downwind, the birds wouldn’t even smell him coming. Blood pounded through his ears. The thrill of the hunt was intoxicating. Like soldiers standing to attention, the hairs on the nape of his neck rose. He sniffed. Bird. He could smell bird. Much like Jay was a man of the ocean, seagulls were the birds of the ocean. He often admired them. They way they glided through the air, before dipping playfully below the waves. Catching small fish in such a casual, leisurely fashion that it ignited small pains of envy in Jay’s chest. Did he hate them for what they could do? Possibly. But he was no green hunter himself. He was a predator. 

Jay dropped low, creeping closer to his prey. He would feast, and it would taste so sweet. A small grey seagull wandered away from the pack. It's feathers were ruffled, likely from a fight with another seagull. A lovers spat perhaps? It was easy prey. But was it too easy? A trick? A trap? The appearance of weakness to lure him off the scent, fool him into giving away his position. Were these seagulls that smart? Were they capable of crafting and executing a complex plan of this magnitude? Was any animal? Was he? Jay considered himself an intelligent man. He was captain of a boat after all. He commanded many seamen. He’d helped chart a course with direction from only the stars. He’d steered a boat from the eye of a mighty hurricane, plucking his crew from the icy grasp of Neptune. Of course he’d doubted himself before. He’d had many doubts since he decided to go to high school. He’d been boat-schooled his entire life. Captain Oliver was many things, but competent in geometry he was not. Jay considered his education well-rounded. Though polite society might disagree.

He would take the bait, he decided. Seagulls had small heads. Small heads mean small brains. A small brain signaled a being not capable of rational thought. Jay considered his own head to be particularly large. It was pouncing time. His muscles tensed, he crouched, breath held he uncoiled like a snake he lunged and-

A roar, a loud roar like thunder. The sky was filled with speckled white bodies. A great flap of wings filled his ears. The caw-caw-caw sounding very much like laughter. Jay’s sensitive nose picked up the now familiar scent of motor oil. What kind of vehicle was this? A strange one. Young men dressed in tight leather roared by, straddling gleaming metal horses. Jet black wheels kicked up thick butts of sand, obscuring Jay’s vision. His prey was gone. His hunt a failure. The wind that whipped Jay’s hair seemed to be mocking him. You can’t survive in this world. You won’t. He was a fish out of water.


	5. Part 2: For Whom the Bell Tolls // Blade ‘Dreamslayer’ Slater

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things start to get interesting as Blade heads to the cafeteria -- and meets their mysterious, shockingly beautiful love interest.

Highschool, motherfucker. He’d been through three years (but if anyone asked, he’d been at LA High for 5, couldn’t do his reputation like that), and each fall was just as painful as the last. At least this year he had all of his boys with him -- Beau was finally a freshman, much to everyone’s well-hid pride. While he missed being able to ruffle the boy’s unruly hair as he dropped him off at the middle school, Blade did admit to feeling a sense of calm with the knowledge that his pack was all in one building, close enough for him to reach at all times. The others would grouse about his ‘Alpha possessiveness’, but he knew they secretly enjoyed having the security as well. Beau now rode to the high school with the rest of them, albeit on the back of Shackleface’s bike -- 14 and older was Blade’s rule, even though he knew that Beau could ride just as well, if not better, than most of the older boys.

  
Blade smirked as the roar of their bikes rose around him, the others revving their engines noisily as they turned into high school’s parking lot. A couple jumped, startled from where they had been making out against her convertible. He carelessly flipped off their dirty glares. Something settled in his chest as he watched his boys pull their bikes into the spots right at the front of the school. Normally prime real estate was reserved for the teachers, but after last year’s Carrie-inspired prank, they didn’t dare question the Bloodaggers. Blade and his boys ran the school, and Blade made sure that everyone knew it.

  
Swinging his leg over the seat, Blade tossed his dark hair once before combing it back with deft fingers. He knew he looked good, he knew he looked better-than-sex, he didn’t need anyone to tell him that.

  
But the girls giggling as they cast quick, secretive glances in his direction, didn’t hurt at all. He grinned, tossing them an easy smirk as he went to collect his boys. Time to make an entrance.

\---

Blade sauntered into his assigned homeroom a comfortable 20 minutes late, but not after checking the room number twice outside against his newly printed schedule. He’d had to help Beau find his homeroom and settle in, and then had the pleasure of wrangling Flameryder into his class to ensure that the redhead didn’t head right back around into the parking lot as he was wont to do. Blade barely spared a glance at the adult standing at the head of the room as he slipped past the others in the class, some of which he recognized, most of which he didn't care to. As a senior, Blade knew most of the teachers at the school. As a certified troublemaker™, they all knew him.

  
“Blade Slater, I presume?” remarked the woman stood at the blackboard, her salt and pepper hair pulled back into an austere bun. She squinted at him through her thick, half-moon glasses, lips curling derisively around the consonants of his name.

  
Blade blew a kiss at her as he slid into a seat at the back corner of the room, swinging his legs up onto the desk in front of him. “Most people call me Dreamslayer,” he purred “but you can call me anytime.”

  
The teacher scoffed, before turning her attention back to the announcements in front of her. Clearly she had been warned.

“As I was saying, for many of you, this is your last year and so I implore you not to give in to the temptations of senioritis -- the temptations of the  _ Devil _ \-- and to put your best effort and your best attitude,” she stared directly at Blade, who blew her another kiss. He had long lost interest. As the bell rang a scant 5 minutes later, he glanced down again at his schedule -- Intro to Ceramics, World History 101, AP English, and Geometry. Fucking gross, but at least he was sure to have some of his boys in his classes, especially the upper level ones. And at least he’d see them all for lunch.

\---

Well, he’d spoken too fucking soon. Apparently all of the other Daggers had been put into second lunch, and he alone was stuck with fucking third. Probably because of dumb alphabetizing, he thought bitterly. His father continued to screw him over, even when he had no idea where he was. Either way, Blade trudged in, mind half set to skip lunch period altogether and take his bike for a ride somewhere, anywhere but here. Already the discordant swell of noise in the hallways, the grating scratch of pencils on paper was getting to him. Being a werewolf had its perks, for sure, but being able to hear and sense literally everything around him came at a high price, that being his sanity.

  
With a sigh, Blade turned into the hallway that led towards the cafeteria. Akira had packed him a lunch, special for the first day of school he’d said, and Temp would have his head if Blade didn’t eat it. And what better place to do that than in the linoleum jungle they called the cafeteria?  
As he entered, ignoring the looks cast his way ( _goddammit, gang leaders have to eat food too, fucking annoying_ ) Blade deliberated on seating arrangements for half a second before he spotted _her_.

  
Third lunch period was about to get a little more interesting, he thought keenly, eyes narrowing as he dragged his gaze up and down the blonde sat at a table in the back. The cafeteria ceiling was punctuated with skylights, one of which now lit her from above, highlighting the honey tones in her hair which flowed behind her courtesy of some unknown wind source, locks silky where she tossed them over her slight shoulders. Her lips, soft and dewy like young strawberries or a freshly beating heart, stretched wide around her smile as she cast her head back to laugh joyfully. Her skin was pale, porcelain smooth like the dolls he'd seen on the shopping channel, but had never been able to purchase, never been able to touch. God, he wanted to touch her skin, wanted to run his claws down the smooth panes of her cheekbones, wanted to follow the flush of her capillaries and burrow his face into the curve of her neck to inhale her scent, purely her. Blade stalked towards her like the Great California Grey Wolf to its prey. There was already another guy sitting next at the table, but well, Blade was a wolf. He’d already torn one throat out with his teeth, what was another for the everlasting love and devotion of a potential life partner?

  
High school, motherfucker.


	6. ch 2 - daddy goes to school

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blues "Daddy" goes to his first day of school, hoping to meet new friends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N - some lyrics used from Avril Lavigne and My Chemical Romance. I dont own these lyrics.

At five o’clock, my alarm starts pumpin out my sick tunes. Nothing gets me out of bed better than some hardcore rock!

“HE WAS A SKATER BOI HE SAID SEE YA L8TR BOI HE WASN’T GOOD ENOUGH FOR HER”

Oh yeah. That’s the shit. I jump out of bed. Nothing gets me going like Avril’s kick ass punk rock!   
I go to the closet to pick out the perfect outfit. I need to look aggressive, yet approachable. And, of course, show off my sexy bod. I go for a fitted long sleeve knit shirt in the color grey. I also wear skin tight skinny jeans. I also put on some black eyeliner because i was feeling kinda punk rock, thanks to my kick ass playlist. Bring me to life is playing now. I can’t get enough of this rock n roll!

After packing my bag with all the necessities (axe body spray and nunchucks) I am all ready to go. I quickly drink a protein shake and 5 raw egg yolks, and i am out the door!

LA High School was about 3 miles from my living quarters, but i got there in a mere hour and a half. Thanks muscles! 

The bell rings for the start of school just as i walk through the door. There were so many students! All of them, however, less sexy than I. i can do this. I will win at high school. 

Amongst the hustle and bustle of the large student body, i am still able to make it successfully to my first three classes. All of which were not stimulating enough for my massive brain (since the brain is a muscle, it is also very strong and sexy, therefore making me very smart). 

My first class was theater with Mr. Lane. i am very good at theater, since i am good at everything. I showed the class my power as i stood on the dimly lit stage and recited a poem I had written:

“Well, the encourage your cooperation  
Send you roses when they think you need to smile  
I can’t control myself because i don’t know how  
And they’ll love me for it honestly  
I’ll be here for a while  
So give them blood, blood  
Gallons of the stuff  
Give them all that they can drink and it will never be enough  
So give them blood, blood, blood  
Grab a glass because there's going to be a flood”

The whole class started cheering. I knew I had impressed them with my fantastic skills of poetry.

As I said, I always win. 

The other classes (astronomy and physics) were uneventful. I won at those too. I just win at everything. That's the benefit of having a strong, muscular brain. 

After all the classes, it was time to go to lunch. I went into the lunch line and got a big tray of mashed potatoes. That's my favorite food. I turned around to find a table, and see a girl sitting alone. I felt sorry for her but also drawn to her aura and wanted to make new friends, so I headed to sit near her. 

“Hi, what’s your name?”

“I am named Chelsea Eaton. What is your name?”

“I’m Blues, but everyone just calls me ‘Daddy’”

“Well, nice to meet you, Daddy.” Chealsea said with a warm smile 

“:)”

Just as i am sitting down, i see two other young men coming my way. I hope they’ll be my friends. 

If they aren’t, I’ll kick their asses.


	7. Jay Part 3: Redemption

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jay expands his horizons, and his manhood.

“Why do you weep brother?”

“Evan my life has been torn asunder. At my own hand. What have I done? I can’t catch a lame seagull. Men on chrome horses mock me with their speed and terrible growls. I’ve been rejected and humiliated at every turn. Suppose I dive into the sea, return to my crew. Suppose I let Poseiden take me.”

Evan raised a ghostly hand, as if to brush the hot tears from his brother's face.

“I have faith in you Jay. You’ve always been the strong one. I’ve seen you conquer obstacles far more terrible than this. You will rise to the challenge, and you will come out stronger than ever.”

“Do you think so?”

“I know so brother. I know, just like your dear sweet captain knew the moment he saw that sunburned waif so many years ago.”

Evan faded from view, as he often did when he was no longer needed for plot development. He was, after all, a side character.

High school would be easy after a lifetime spent at sea, Jay decided. He was a captain, no challenge was insurmountable for him. He left the administration office with a spring in his step. Intro to Ceramics, World History 101, Freshman English, Pre-Algebra. He was a cultured man, this would be a breeze. The desk was manned by an aging lass with sagging skin that gave her the appearance of an unevenly melted candle. She’d recommended a tutor for him. Him! Captain of La Mere Mort! Conqueror of the high seas. She’d been a round woman with a bottom that seemed to have grown roots. He’d told her such. Told her how life had taught him all he’d needed to know. The whisper of the waves revealing mysteries long lost to land lovers like her. He’d been raised by the toss and turn of the sea. The sweet moon, her glowing face looking down upon him had been his mother. The bitter winters, the frostbite that took his toes, had been his cruel teacher. When life gave him strife, he made strife juice and threw it back in her face. Just like the coffee the testy office lass had thrown in his. Conflict. Struggle. The push and pull of rivaling powers. All a part of life.

Jay read over the supply list he’d been given. Textbooks, notebooks, highlighters. These things were all so foreign for Jay. He’d bought none of them. What use was any of this to a pirate? He had his keen senses, and his big heart. This had gotten him far in life. Captain Oliver had said that a man was only as good as his gut, and Jay ate lots of probiotic yogurt. Maybe he’d pick up a box of pencils though. He could see their use.

The hallways were busy. Much busier than the corridors of his ship. Jay manned a crew of 40 seamen. He wasn’t used to so much bustle. He was a broad shouldered man, and took up much space in the hallway.

“Pardon me. Hello there. Sorry about that lad. Gee golly, it sure is crowded in here.”

Jay was being tossed about like a ship on the high seas.

“Does anyone know how to get to room 216?”

Jay arrived late to his first class. At sea he was always early, as he believed a man was only as good as his word. So when he said he would be somewhere, he made sure to be there. Jay was not feeling particularly good about his manhood at the moment. Redemption was proving difficult to grasp. Much like the concept of a squared root. Much like his manhood was not. His next class was smoother sailing. Jay found he had a knack for ceramics. His hands were strong and gentle, his long fingers agile. Sculpting a pot was like making love to a beautiful lass. He ran his fingers over its soft, wet curves, molding the pot to the vision in his head. He closed his eyes, letting the wetness glide between his palms. He remembered Rio. He remembered Carnival. He remembered the beautiful lass dressed in a rainbow of feathers, a waterfall of glimmering beads. She was a treasure. The kind a true pirate always sought, but could never really grasp. His crew had been docked for a week. Leaving her had been like leaving behind a part of his soul. He could remember her soft curves so vividly. His fingers tingled with the sensation. He opened his eyes. This was not the place.

Class ended far too soon. But yet just on time. Jays stomach rumbled like thunder on a stormy day at sea. Lunch. Yes. He wondered if they had fish. Probably. This was a coastal town after all. The lunch room was crowded, holding far more people between its grey walls than Jay had ever grasped in his large yet broken heart. Maybe he’d find someone. Someone to make his heart sing and his hands tingle. A lass so colorful she brought shame to the flowers in spring time. There. With the sparkling golden hair. Paris. 2012. A cache of stolen jewels in an abandoned cathedral. The stained glass glittering in the dying sunlight, casting dancing shadows on the rotten pews. Her hair, like a thousand burning stars woven together to blanket a face so perfect, it had to have been carved from stone. Maybe she’d appreciate some strong masculine company. Yes, he’d dine with her, even if it meant fighting off those land-loving dogs that surrounded her.


	8. Lunch Table

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the boys meet Chelsea, a girl worth fighting for

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> written by zzombieyum, szacka, and PricklesTheDangerMouse all together in this chapter!

Group Chapter- Lunch table

Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Sed eleifend orci ut lacus blandit commodo. Integer semper sem eu tellus malesuada commodo. Mauris elementum nec sapien sed scelerisque. Integer congue, est at sollicitudin fermentum, eros ex malesuada odio, sit amet bibendum metus ligula sed sapien.

“Hello fair maiden. My name is Jay. Tell me, what are you called?”

“Hey doll,” Blade purred, slipping into the seat abreast to her. He cast her the same crooked smile that he knew charmed all the girls and guys in the hallway, the one that made his eyes ‘crinkle up handsomely’, as Arsen had once drunkenly informed him. “What’s your name, sweetheart? You know, just so I know what to call out tonight.”

“Hey, men, i was here talking to Chelsea first and i am the sexiest so beet it, you mules.” Daddy said in a low growl

“There is no dibs in love and war, and I am well acquainted with both.” Jay sent the blonde a dashing wink, flipping his rugged locks over his shoulder. “Let me tell you about this time I was in New Zealand-”

“Shut your mouth, loser! You are rambling when i’m trying to acquire this young lady!” Daddy yelled, making everyone in the cafeteria go silent for a moment. But only for a moment, because everyone would much rather pay attention to their mashed potatoes than the tension that filled the air.

Blade scoffed, drawing her attention to his side. “Ignore those idiots, doll.” He reached forward, silently asking to take her hand.

Jay placed his palm on the hand of the leather clad lad. His palms were calloused, a working lad after his own heart. Here was a lad who could hoist a sail and scale a mast. He squeezed the lads fingers gently, with his strong hands.  
“Sir, my young shiny friend, it is wonderful to make your acquaintance. What shall I call you?”

Blade smirked, ignoring the weird, knock-off Hook’s question. He didn’t break eye contact with Chelsea as he lifted the boy’s hand to his lips, dropping a chapped kiss onto the other’s palm. “What are you doing after we break out of this hellhole, darling?” He asked Chelsea directly. “Have you ever ridden a motorcycle?”

“Have you ever sailed upon the high seas? Tasted the salty breeze as it races through your shining golden locks? The freedom of the open sea! The horizon as your only boundary!” Jay could feel his heart start to race as he remembered home. That tingling, almost itchy feeling of sweat starting to bubble beneath his skin.

“Fuck off, barnacle fucker,” Blade muttered under his breath, dropping the man’s well-callused, strong, yet gentle hand.

“Chelsea, although we have have just met, you would be perfect for me, you like the rat and I like the cheese. Im all muscle and you are all beauty. What more does the world need? I even wrote you a poem!” Daddy cleared his throat and broadened his thick chest

“oh chelsea, my love, oh chealsea, my dear.  
I am the best of all the men here.  
Oh, Chelsea, you are so fine. I would love to make you mine.  
Your thick blond hair and your lustful stare.  
Oh CHELSEA my love, you are so perfect and fine,  
Oh chelsea oh chelsea, i want to make you mine!”

  
“MAIDEN! FAIR MAIDEN! YOUR EYES ARE GLIMMERING JEWELS! FOR YOU I’D CROSS THE OCEAN BLUE, FIGHT A THOUSAND FOOLS!”  
Jays booming voice echoed through the now silent cafeteria. He was a man of the ocean, sea shantying was in his blood.  
“SET THE MAST AND FURL THE SAIL, MY LASS IS ON HER WAY! WE’LL SAIL A THOUSAND NAUGHTS TODAY, WE’LL SAIL INTO THE FRAY!”

“Your song is lame, sea-man” Daddy cried in angsty anger “glimmering jewels for eyes? Who wants rocks for eyes! Fight a thousand fools? Then you won’t be fighting me, because I ain’t no fucking fool, i’m the coolest of the cool!” Oh yeah, Daddy got this under control. Daddy would get this babe. Daddy will be triumphant and happy.

“And ‘fray’? What does that even mean! You can’t pick up a babe like chelsea if you use that dumb ass laungueage.” then Daddy put an ‘L’ up against his forehead and in a booming voice cried “LOOOOOOOOOOOOOOSER”

This was it. The high school cruelty Jay had come to expect. His eyes were misty, like a crisp dawn at sea. Before brave Apollo cast across the sky in his golden chariot, burning the dew away. But unlike the early morning dew, Jay’s tears did not burn away. They slipped down his cheeks, hot fat liquids betraying the angst and turmoil he constantly felt inside. On La Mere Mort, no one would dare talk to him this way. He was ship captain, the leader of his motley crew. He tried to stutter out a reply. But it seemed the scene was already moving on.

Blade shook his head, watching the other boys do… whatever the fuck they were trying to do. This was some bizarre fucking renaissance shit, like the weird medieval stuff Paine made them watch whenever it was his turn to pick the movie. This was too fuckin’ weird, even for him, and Blade had lived with like, nine other teenage boys through puberty. Blade made to stand, crumpling up the remenants of his brown paper bag in his hand. He winced as he tried to toss it into the nearest garbage can and missed by a mile. The freshman who’d accidentally gotten trash to the face looked up, terror clear in his eyes, and Blade glared back, hoping that any the onlookers thought it had been on purpose.  
As he shrugged his bag over his shoulder, he turned to look down at Chelsea once more. He reached a hand towards her arm, question silent in his eyes. When she let him take it, confusion clear, he slipped a Sharpie out of his back pocket, ripping the cap off between his teeth. He scrawled his number on the soft, milky flesh of her forearm, careful to ensure that the characters were decipherable. “There’s a bonfire tonight, down on the beach. Me and my boys will be there, text me where to pick you up?” He shot her another confident smirk, before turning on his heel and striding out of the cafeteria.

Jay had to do something. These other lads were showing him up. Like that time Garret, the ships unofficial swabber, had done a splashier cannonball than he.  
“MAIDEN! FAIR MAIDEN! YOUR HAIR IS LIKE SPUN GOLD!”  
His bellows were louder than before. Heads turned. Yes. He was doing a good job. The lass would never forget him now. Perhaps he’d go to the bonfire. Stop that misguided leather fetish from harassing his lass.


	9. Jay Part 4: Reflections

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blossoming love. Sins and sorrows.

Chelsea. A warm spring evening. The sounds of drunken sailors bustling back and forth from their ships. The smell of baking bread. Rising yeast, plumps loaves browning in the oven. His bare feet in the cool, dark water. Shirtless, the moon reflecting of his sweat drenched pecs. This was where he’d lost his virginity. He had been deflowered one magical, starry night in Chelsea. 

Chelsea, flowing golden hair. Selene, Goddess of the moon. She who drove the great ball across the sky. Jay could see the moon in Chelsea's hair. It’s brilliant rays reflecting in the light, dazzling. He blinked, clearing the stars from his vision. He sent a prayer to the benevolent goddess for driving the moon to earth. Bringing the heavens to the third period lunch hour, cafeteria two, Los Angeles High. Angels. Angels were in the lunch room. A city true to its name. 

Scotland, with its rolling green fields and plunging cliffs. He remembered the sheep that grazed on the side of the road, fat butts on four legs. Hooves clomping down the gravel path as they traveled back and forth to pasture. He remembered their shepherd. A kind looking man, hunched over in his old age. A gnarled walking stick supporting his weight. He’d invited Jay back to dinner. Regaled him with stories of drunken youth in exchange for tales of nautical adventure. He remembered the mans daughter. A lass of 14, Jays own age. They’d locked lips behind the barn. Caressing each other to a chorus of curious baaaaaahs. Her lips had been red, like her fiery hair. But when he looked at Chelsea, the lass might as well have been pure grey. Chelsea's lips were plump, like the worms he dangled from his fishing hook. Red, like the august sunset. Like the color of his skin after a long day at sea. Red like an orchard flush with fruit, flesh bursting with juices. Red like his blood, the life sustaining substance that burned through his veins.

Her pale skin, like the leaping white caps on a windy day at sea. Tossing his heart into a frenzy. Glowing like the face of the moon on a buttless night. Those exhilarating nights when la lune blessed him with her full presence. To be blessed with Chelsea's presence would cause his heart to stop. Unlike la lune, he imagined she could tame the beast inside him. Tame the hurricane that beat in his very soul. Her skin, it looked so soft. Like the flesh of a seal. He longed to touch it. To stroke one delicate cheek with the back of his hand. To take her small fingers into his large, strong, yet surprisingly gentle ones. To walk with her through the rain, into the bright sunshine. His love, his life, his lady, was Chelsea. 

Her eyes. He could see so much in her eyes. He could see life, death, the passage of time. He could see the sunrise, the sunset, stars scattered across the black sky. Scattered like broken glass on the tar covered deck of a ship. Those were eyes that could dash him to a thousand pieces. Dash him against jagged rocks like the sirens of lore. But they were kind eyes as well. Eyes that could light up a room, spark a fire on a cold night, eyes that could thaw a frozen heart. Did she know of her power? She was looking straight at him now, brow crinkled. Did she know of his rumination? Jay fought the urge to fall to his knees. He fought the urge to shout his desire to the sky. The gods should know of his longing. If he was at sea, he’d bottle his feelings and throw them into the murky depths below. But this was high school. He’d hit the salad bar instead. Maybe they had curly fries.

⚜⚜⚜

“Alas! What saline filled devils mock me! Mock my pain! Mock my lack of a strong parental figure! Black like coal, black like the new moon! Captain! O’ Captain! Our fearful trip is done! Exult O shores, and ring O bells! But I with mournful tread, walk the deck my Captain lies, fallen cold and dead! My heart, my very soul! Like Prometheus, I am chained to this earth, my organs devoured time and time again. My heart plucked from my chest by the filthy thoughtless claws of the cafeteria staff. I will regrow, but each lunch hour, each house salad, will bring me closer to total destruction.”

“Hey man, if you’re done with the tongs can I have them? I want to get some mozzarella.” 

⚜⚜⚜

At sea he was king, the commander of an army. Feared and respected by all. But this was high school. There were no rules. There were no leaders. Just a desperate fight for survival. It was enough to break a man.

“Stop saying that! I’m dashing!”

“You smell like my dead grandma.”

The wee lass wrinkled her nose. She gagged in an exaggerated manner, fanning her hand in front of her face as if to waft away a smell Jay knew didn’t exist. 

“Do you even use deodorant? For gods sake man get a clue.”

“Why must you be so cruel? Why must you tear me down like this?”

“What are you, some kind of renaissance nerd?”

The quest to woo his beloved had been derailed. Sierra Leone. Five years back, give or take. His memory of this particular voyage was foggy, gods bless. It had been October, monsoon season. He’d been shooting the shit with some local fisherman, watching my butts roll in from the sea. The rainy season was winding down, the locals weren’t worried. But they should have been. Dark bulging butts, ready to birth their mass over the hapless creatures stirring below. They’d blown in so fast. The air was electrified in the face of the coming gale. Quiet, humid, an increasingly violent wind rattled through the palm fronds. The small fishing boat Jay rested on stood no chance. Jesse, the captain of this particular vessel, had tried to steer them back to shore. They’d raced through the choppy waves, boat leaping like a playful dolphin. Jesse barked orders at Jay and Alif, another fisherman who’d boarded the vessel for a late afternoon rum and coke. 

Something had gone wrong. Something had gone very wrong. The mists of the sea obscured their vision. They navigated blindly, relying on vague compass points. They navigated poorly. Their ship was battered by cliffside rocks, water bursting through its broken hull and swirling angrily around their feet. It hissed and spat like a snake. He could still remember Jesse’s words. _Jump. Every man for himself_. What happened next was a mystery even to Jay. He remembered water filling his lungs, choking him with furious intensity. His body was pulled this way and that. Up and down. Bashed against the rocky sea floor again and again and again and again…

He'd woken up in the sand. Hot sand, filling every damned crevice of his body. A hand on his shoulder, shaking him. _Padi, Padi, Aw yu du?_ Alif’s concern was touching, but more importantly, it meant they were alive. _a wɛl_ , he’d replied, _a wɛl tɛnki_. But he was not fine. He was lost. His body ached and his throat burned. He and Alif had made it to dry land. Dry barren land with not a soul in sight. An island, small enough to remain uncharted. Six times the length of La Mere Mort, stern to bow. He’d counted, walking one foot in front of the other, back and forth across the island. There were caverns. Moist, barnacle speckled caverns where they made their beds. Food was scarce, it seemed even fish knew to avoid this place. Roots, tubers, they ate whatever they could find. They ate it all. Soon they turned to sand, small rocks, barnacles scraped from the walls of their prison. The hunger was all consuming. A terrible crushing feeling that left them breathless in the sand. A hopeless inhumane feeling, _he had no other choice_. Alif was a small man, smaller than Jay. _(lɛf, duay lɛf)_. He didn’t stop.

A boat on the horizon. Some many days later. A gleaming gem in the distance. Her bow the most beautiful thing Jay had ever seen. La Mere Mort. Captain Oliver, standing strong at the wheel. It was Jesse, he’d made it. He’d swum free, swum free of the vicious gale. He’d alerted the Captain who’d once again wrested Jay from a watery grave. The man was a godsend. He’d stuffed Jay full of rice and fresh caught fish. Uncountable liters of warm beer. Fresh water. His hunger was sated despite the turmoil in his soul. Jesse, bless him, had sat down beside him. _Where’s Alif?_ He’d asked. _Where’s my friend?_

He’d been forced to consume Alif to survive. Much like he’d consumed Evan in the womb. It was torture. Each steaming bite of flesh was an ode to this abominable act. He’d never forget the taste of the seaman in his mouth. He swore he’d never consume an Alif again. _Pray the gods forgive me._ He never told Jesse the true story of what had happened. He’d never told anyone. Lost at sea, he’d said. He tried to swim his way home, he’d said. Maybe he’ll still show up. Maybe one day he’ll rise from the waves and return to his beloved family, waterlogged but otherwise unharmed. Was it cruel of him? Was it cruel to curse Alif’s young daughter with this gnawing hope? As La Mere Morte set sail, he could spot Alif’s ever-shrinking widow among the dunes. The widows tortured face was turned to the horizon, ignorant of what she was. Ignorant of what he’d done. _A de go padi. A de go._

A shot of rum, another restless night of tortured sleep. That’s how he remembered Alif. Jay had a good heart. He was a kind soul with strong yet gentle hands. He was fiercely loyal to those he loved, and would protect them with everything he had. It killed him knowing he was the inflicter of pain. He was the slimy black ball lodged in Alifs throat. He was the round infant that tore Alif to pieces. He was the seed of hatred that had sprouted in Alifs heart, warping him into something unrecognizable. He was the predator. He was the wolf. He was the cycle of pain, he was its father, he was its victim. Jay wanted to be a doctor, to heal. But who heals the doctor? Another doctor? Perhaps.


	10. Part 3: Girls! Girls! Girls! // Blade “Dreamslayer” Slater

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blade has an existential crisis

Blade let his head fall back against Beau’s locker, watching as the hallways filtered out. Students flowed past him, eager to get home, go out, go anywhere but here. Cryme and Paine were wrestling beside him, knocking heads over one or the other’s phone. He sighed, having half a mind to tell them to cut it out -- he’d had to pay to repair two phones last month, and they’d had to eat rice and beans for two weeks as a result. As he turned towards them, a cool hand pulled him back by the bicep. He startled, spinning towards it, face settling somewhat as he traced it back to the tall girl it belonged to.

“Hey babe, wanna get out of here?” Roxanne ran her nails up and down his arm, squeezing at his shoulder for a second as she grinned wickedly.

Blade laughed. “Of course, doll, lead the way.” Slinging his backpack higher on his shoulder, he wrapped a strong arm around her waist, stepping towards the door before thinking better of it. “Cryme, P, don’t forget that I need you home by 9 tonight for the bonfire,” he called over his shoulder. “See if Akira is cooking, be back for dinner if he is.”

“Yes mom,” they chimed in unison. Roxy snickered and Blade scowled, flipping them off without looking back. “Fuckin’ idiots, gonna pay in blood for that later,” he announced loudly, in case any of the after-school stragglers in the hallway had overheard.

Once outside, Roxy went immediately to his bike and settled herself on it, gesturing towards Blade with grabby hands. He went easily, his lips finding hers in a fierce, wet n’ wild makeout session. “Missed you, doll,” he says roughly as he pulls back from her.

She laughs. “No you didn’t, asshole.”

“No, I didn’t.” He forms the easy, salacious grin he knows she expects. He had missed her, but he’ll never tell her that. What he has with her is easy. They fuck, and they don’t say cute words unless they’re drunk and alone (they’re too often drunk and alone.) She gets it, Roxanne, living with her older sister and her sister’s brats. He doesn’t know why, has never asked. It always seems too personal, but he knows that she understands, and so he fucks her and drinks with her and sometimes they talk. The boys knock shoulders in the hallways, the freshmen look up at him in awe. They whisper about his omega conquests in the locker room, but. There’s only ever been Roxy.

“Wanna come over?” he asks, swinging himself onto the bike in front of her. She tightens her arms around his waist, the press of her body sure against his back.

“Nah,” she says, “sister’s got some fancy dinner planned for tonight. A birthday, probably, one of the kids, I don’t fucking know.”

It’s a lie, but he won’t call her out on it. Roxy is devoted to her nieces and nephews and knows all of their birthdays. Blade bets that she already has the perfect gift picked out, not to be given at the party, but to be left underneath the kid’s pillow later that night, to be discovered in the morning. “Sure,” he says easily, “I’ll just take you home then.”

As he revs up his bike, she rewards him with a sweet peck on the cheek.

\---

She comes over anyways, later that afternoon. Blade lies in bed, listening to the cacophony of the boys in the kitchen on the first floor. They’d have to start getting ready for the fire in a few hours, but the Bloodaggers didn’t ever show up to anything early (or on time, even.) The fan turns lazily overhead. He and Flame had fixed it earlier in the summer, back when it had been to hot to sleep without it. Today, the topsheet is pushed down to his waist. It’s still balmy, like the heat of summer still hasn’t gotten the memo that the days are getting shorter. Waning sunlight leaks in through the window, curtains open to cast serpentine shadows across the floorboards and the opposing wall. He’s slept in this room since he was a kid; he’d given the boys his mother’s and sister’s room, as well as the guest rooms, but this room is his. It’s the smallest in the house, and it still feels cozy, like when he was young. Even if his posters are long torn down, childhood memorabilia raked over for cash, Blade grew up in this room, and some part of him will always see it as a haven.

A soft  _ plink _ noise draws his attention from the ceiling fan, which is stuttering again in its rotations. He sighs, letting the sheets fall to the floor as he makes his way over to open the window. “You know, you could just use the door.”

Roxy scowls at him from the lawn, pebbles in her hand. “That takes all the fun out of it now, doesn’t it?” Blade huffs a laugh and shakes his head, sliding the window full open. “Come on now, hurry up.”

She does, scaling the oak tree by the house with alarming skill. She slides smoothly into his room, toeing off her sneakers by his nightstand. Roxy turns towards him. Always waiting, always anticipating, Blade catches her as they fall back onto the bed.

Later, when they’ve crawled onto the roof, she turns to ask him a question. “So what are you going to do about it?”

He stares blankly up at the sky, the moon beginning to crawl out, dull with LA smog. It’ll be a cool evening, he can already feel it, but the smoke of their cigarettes in his chest keeps him warm, warm enough. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says finally.

She lets her head fall to the side, looking directly at him. “Yes you do. The girl, the one at lunch.”

“You saw that? Do you even go to lunch period?”

“Don’t play cute, dumbass. Besides, everyone’s talking about it. The Dreamslayer’s new conquest. That’s a dumb name, by the way.”

He closes his eyes, taking another drag of his cigarette before letting his knuckles knock back onto the shingles. “I don’t know. She’s hot. You know how I am.” He hears Roxy laugh, and then take another swig from the flask she brought with her. He’d worry about how she was going to get off of the roof, much less back down the tree out his window, but they’d done this so many times before.

“Yeah, Blade, I do know you, and that’s why I’m asking.” She pauses, her voice suddenly serious. “I hope you know what you’re doing.” He closes his eyes again, turns away from her, and then beckons for the flask. She passes it wordlessly.

Finally, he mumbles, “Don’t you think it’d ever be nice? Having something real?”

Roxy rolls over and takes the flask back, taking a large swig herself. “Real is overrated,” she scoffs. “It’s all fake anyways. All those lives they show on TV, with the blonde girl who saves the dark, mysterious boy. Nothing like that really happens, you should know that Blade. You of all people.” He flinches.

“What if it’s not fake?” he asks, voice quieter than he’s ever heard it.

“Are you feeling okay?” she asks. “Maybe you’ve had too much to drink. You’re talking nonsense, dreamboy.”

“No,” he insists, “what if there’s more? What if it doesn’t have to be like this?”  _ What if I don’t have to be like this _ , he doesn’t say.

“Like what, being a gang leader? A heartless piece of trash? A bad boy extraordinaire? That’s what you are, kid.” He flinches again, too drunk to contain his reaction, but she continues. “Any of those nice kids, the ones with money? They’d throw you away in a heartbeat. You mean nothing to them babe, neither of us do.”

“That’s not true,” he protests feebly.

“That’s how it is,” Roxy says. “We could get written out any day and it wouldn’t matter to those fucks. They’re the important ones in this story, we’re disposable. Best she’d do would be be like, oh, this one time in high school I dated a bad boy, what a rebellion!”

_ What if I’m more than that, _ Blade thinks.  _ What if I can be more? _

“You’re just a red shirt to them, but face it babe, that’s all you are anyways. Just another gang member, right? That’s the life they wrote for us, and that’s all we get.” She brings one hand up, finger slowly tracing the line of his jaw. “You can play house all you want,” Roxy intones, her voice derisive. “But just remember Blade, for people like you and me, we’re not meant to have the happy ending. We don’t get that. Me and you, we’re like Thelma and Louise. It’s fun while it lasts, right?”

He takes one last drag of his cigarette before flicking it off the roof and onto the lawn. Closes his eyes against her, against her judgement, against this world and any god above.  _ Right _ , he thinks dully.  _ Fun while it lasts _ .

“You’re a bitch,” Blade mutters, and he smiles when she tries to push him off the roof.


	11. Jay Part 5: Does anybody even read these?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Metaphores, ruminations, and a short, sharp shock.

It seemed almost anti-climatic coming home after the day he’d had. He’d met the love of his life, had his first high school fight, and made his own soup bowl out of clay. A soup bowl! Made of clay! He could hardly believe it. Jay poured himself a hearty glass of rum. A pirate should always have fire in his veins. 

“Oh Evan, I’ve had the most marvelous day.”

“I told you you would.”

“I met the most beautiful girl. I sang to her Evan. Sang to her like a seaman bellows to the stars that guide our way.”

“Proud you you Jay. Wait you sang to her? I didn’t know you had chorus?”

“No dear brother, I serenaded the lass at lunch hour.”

“Well, okay Jay. If you think that’s best.” Evan gave his brother an uncertain smile. One that was returned with exuberance. 

“This young lad has invited me to a bonfire tonight. Strange lad, covered head to toe in the hide of a cow. Problem is, I don’t have a thing to wear. Should I bring my swim trunks? It is by the beach after all. It’s a bonfire party Evan, a bonfire!”

Jay was a brave lad, a brave confident lad. He’d seen many things in his 18 years of life. However, he had little experience with fire. Life on a wooden boat, often many nautical miles from land, meant a certain amount of care had to be taken. Any fires that were started had to be small and easily contained. Candles, lanterns, the burner beneath a pot of stew. Jay rarely witnessed a spectacle as big and bold as a bonfire. Should he bring a trough of water? In case things got out of control? Maybe a blanket? To smother any wandering embers? Gods did his heart beat. Maybe he should shoot some more rum, to sooth his worries. 

“What should you wear? Well traditionally, a gentleman would wear a suit jacket to a party such as this one. But for a sea-faring scoundrel like yourself, fancy clothes are hard to come by, and harder to hold on too.” Evan furrowed his brow, pondering the question. This party was make or break. Jay had his sights set on prom king. He’d never be elected if he couldn’t prove himself to the student body. Only a captain like himself was fit for monarchy. 

“A suit jacket? No, I don’t have one of those. Perhaps some other kind of jacket.”  
If only he could get his hands on some leather, he’d look as dashing as that motorcycle mounting twink that had tried to steal his lady. The poor lass, she’d been so confused by his flashing piercings and pearly teeth that she’d let him grasp her arm and scrawl his madness across it. He’d seen it happen in fish. Dangle a juicy worm in front of them and they wouldn’t even notice the deadly hook before it was lodged in their mouth. Jay shuddered. He’d sooner leap from the plank before see that bloodknife lad lodged in her mouth. She was like the small Remora fish, and he was the gentle manta ray that would take her under his wing. Protecting her from harm, from larger creatures that would seek to devour her. Guiding her through the flowing undercurrents of the deep sea. That muscle studded meathead and that windswept incubus would never know what was coming. Never see the storm of raw masculine energy and sexual power coming their way. And Jay knew exactly what to wear. 

Silk was a very versatile fabric. Many pirates wore hemp, but Jay found the fabric much too rough. It was hard to maintain his unflappable captains facade with chafed nipples. This particular shirt had a deep v-neck. It showcased one of his greatest assets, his thick mat of chest hair. Jay considered himself particularly hairy. He’d noticed many lads his age had trouble growing this kind of lush blanket. Maybe it was the uh, contribution, he'd been given as a youth. He thought this shirt made him appear the swashbuckling spit-fire that he was. 

His “contribution”. Jay had never really been sure what to call it. Was it a gift? He didn’t know if the man who’d given to him it had intended it to be. Was it a curse? Something passed on from man to man, like an ugly sweater or a bad case of genital herpes? What was that dreaded mans intention when he’d bitten Jay? Did he know what would happen to him? Did he care? It had been a full moon. A dark night spent wandering through a Romanian forest. He’d been told it wasn’t safe, but he'd been on a mission. An old woman, the three fates cackling at her bedside, dreaded scissors agonizingly close to snipping the yarn that held her very life force. In the short time he’d been in Romania, she’d been like a grandmother to him. He’d wanted to say goodbye. Maybe bring her a basket of pastries, a cube of sugar to melt on her tongue, some small comfort before she crossed the river Styx. Jay had donned his cloak, a hooded thing the color of blood. He’d ended up tossing that cloak into the ocean the very next day, hating the almost ironic symbolism. Hating how the blood had seemed to disappear into the woven wool. 

The forest had been quiet. Silent, but for his heavy footfalls. Not an owl to coo, not a cricket to sing. Just Jay and the encompassing blackness. The thistle tore at the legs of his breeches, its thorny branches begging Jay to stay, to not enter the cursed forest. He’d entered the cursed forest. The arrogance of youth. It was slow going. He chopped his way through the overgrown path with his flashing cutlass, its handle held in one strong, gentle hand. In his other hand he’d held a small lantern, flame reflecting off the shining metal. What was it about him that had attracted trouble? Was it the pinprick of light, visible for miles through the twisted trees. Had the creature spotted it and decided to snuff it out, protect the vast blackness that surrounded them? Was it his scent? The musk of a growing lass, irresistible to the monster. Perhaps it was his own crimson hood, the color of hot blood igniting some twisted desire in the thing. He’d never know for sure. 

It was impossible to miss the eerie howl that had penetrated the forest. Impossible to pinpoint which direction it came from. The lush tangle of hair on Jays back rose to attention. As if his body was trying to make itself as large as possible. To intimidate the potential threat that seemed to be moving closer and closer. Jay hadn’t known which way to run. Hadn’t know where danger lurked or the warm glow of safety rested. He’d ventured on, to the small cottage that held his chosen Mémère. He never made it. He’d smelled the creature before he saw it. The terrible stench of iron and sickness. The thing stepped into the candle light, its flickering shadow almost seeming to move independently between the thick trees. The beast was huge, covered in pitch black fur. It’s burning eyes narrowed so intently they seemed to be only slits. Its toothy maw, at which Jay could barely bring himself to look, was sharp and dripping with foaming saliva. He could see every sinewy muscle behind its rippling pelt. He held his cutlass aloft, the only thing between him and this ungodly vision. It hadn’t mattered. 

When he’d woken up the next morning his wounds had seemed to heal themselves. Torn flesh had bubbled over to form ugly gnarled scars. The pain had almost fully vanished, only slight twinges remained where the thing had cut to bone. They’d vanish in the coming days. It would take him a full moon cycle to realize what had happened. It would take him years to come to terms with it. 

Still, however traumatic the event had been, it left him with this wonderful ability to grow chest hair, perhaps as a small reminder of what he was beneath the surface. As it grew closer and closer to the full moon, he swore he could feel his personal forest growing faster, thicker. Black hairs spiraling closer towards the heavens for a chance glimpse at his beloved lune. He had to trim his beard more often too. Twice a day instead of once. Tonight there was a fairly plump waxing gibbous suspended in the black tar sea that sloshed above him. She drifted lazily across the sky, floating in an ocean of glittering stars and wandering comets. He wondered if she realized her beauty. Unlikely. 

He did have his own pair of leather breeches. Perhaps he’d wear them and show that obnoxiously handsome devil which way was up. He’d had them made by a tailor in Levanso. A nimble fingered woman who’d spent an uncomfortably long time measuring his pelvic girdle. Her work was fair, the breeches well worth the gold coins he’d traded for them. His masculine curves protruded gracefully through the soft fabric. Jay wasn’t a particularly well endowed man, but he was nothing to scoff at. Roberto, after an unexpectedly titillating play in Vienna, had called him a “grower”. Although coy Roberto tended to be a flatterer, Jay had taken him at his word. He was a grower. Like the spring oak, emboldened by the soft showers of April, encouraged by the hot flush of the summer sun. He rose skyward, length increasing rapidly at the soft breath of mother nature. Soon his trunk would set hard and fast, flush with summer greenery. He’d spread his seed on the winds. Fertile. Blossoming. Like une fleur.

Maybe he’d do something with his hair. On La Mere Mort, the most he ever did was slick it back with whale grease. A tasteful style, but without the blustering ocean breeze, a smelly one. He could weave colorful seagrass into his hair. Accentuate his natural elegance with some small winding braids. Maybe a feather from a gull, clipped into a grecian twist. Something unique, timeless. He’d outshine that bulbous bimbo and that skinny armed rapscallion. He would walk with the grace of a prom king, and he’d accept his crown with humble honor.

“Me? Prom king? You shouldn’t have.”


	12. daddy has a dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> daddy comes closer to chelsea

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is kind a prolog i guess to next chapter.
> 
> this is what happened for some of the bonfire 
> 
> i didn't read the real chapter i just wrote this
> 
> also warning for some mild smut
> 
> lyrics from "she held the world" by panic 
> 
> also i might have smoked a little before writing this so bear with me

I enter tp the bofire beach, where my enemies, jay and demonslayer, sit, pondering. I knoew my  
sexy brain is too much for them to look at. Fear not, whimpy brains, daddy’s will think for you!  
I don’t see them, though. All i see is her:  
CHelsea.  
Her blond hair, or luscious lips, her dancing eyes. The stars from the sky had been shot from  
her hairhead. She made the sky, she made the wole world. She “held the world upon a string  
But she didn't ever hold me. Spun the stars on her fingernails” and oh yes daddy did she hold  
Daddy approached the the scene, steping over demonslayer and jayy. Daddie crushed their  
love for daddy whne they saw daddy with chelsea. The way i looked at chelsea, that’s all they  
wanted, chelsea and daddy to be in love. Thats all they want.  
“Chelsae, my darling rose, how are you?” I purred  
“My dashing daddy! My middle name is rose how did you know!”  
“Well, chelsea,” daddy said with a slight grimace “i do watch you sleep most nigts. I didnt want  
you to feel too turned on by imagining big daddy watching you sleep”  
“Uhhhh daddy that is really creepy”  
“Do you want us to kick dadd’ys ass?” came two dumb as vioces bhind me  
One was a stout man who was named jayyyy he was shaped like a pirate and had long hair  
The other man was very tall and thin like flat stanley his name was dreamslayer. He had a  
skateboard and reeked of cigarettes and balls.  
“yes , bois, relase the mother fucking bats!” chelsea said  
The fists were flying, the hearts were dying, the love was wining and the kids were crying. There  
was so much action an d chelseasle was flattered by the bois.  
All the friction with the fighting, and the pain… daddy was getting a little problem if you know  
what i mean ;) ;) he saw chelsea, this fine young man of equal age, with golden locks and eyes  
shaped like blocks. Soft caresses of feature. What a lovely young man of equal age. I will make  
him mine. I will. Even if my life depends on it. I will.  
Chelsea would be with me , his fully erect cock throbbing gently in my hand as I pump him,  
slowly, my delicate hand well versed in pleasuring him only him. I start pumping more  
aggressively, seeing a thin line of sweat shining on his forehead. I hear chelsea’s breathing  
become more erratic, precum beading on his cock. I can’t help it, i look chelsea in the eyes  
innocently, and while sitll making eye contacts, stick out my tongue and touched it to his tip.  
“Mmm daddy gonna make me cum” chelsea moaned. I smiled mischievously and dipped my  
head down, taking him fully into my mouth. I sucked lightly. I licked up and down his strong  
shaft, one, two, and three times. On the third time, long white streamers began shooting out of  
his cock.  
With his cum all over me, i looked up at chelsea. “Chelsea, you make dadddy feel so happy”  
****  
The next thing i knew, i woke up in LA hospital. My head was being put back together.  
Demonslayer and jay had attacked me over lust. But none the less, daddy won. Daddy always  
wins.


End file.
